


DCU SoIaF/GoT AU Drabbles

by JeanJavert



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Game of Thrones (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Batfamily Feels, Gen, Pre-Battle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9591797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanJavert/pseuds/JeanJavert
Summary: Minutes before the Wayne forces of the North engage the host of the westerlands, the Wayne heir doubts his place amongst his father's wards.





	

**Author's Note:**

> the product of my binge reading GRRM's works

“The bannermen of House West have been spotted on the ridge! Prepare the lances!”

 

The camp fell into action. In a scant few minutes since the scout's warning cry, the rest of Lord Joseph West’s host was visible in the weak morning light. Camp followers were turned out of tents with their nightly earnings as squires readied their lord knights for battle. Ser Grayson checked the hinges on his gauntlets as Damian arranged his tunic of mail.

 

“I do not see why I cannot fight. I am my father’s  son, a place at the fore is mine by right.” Ser Grayson chuckled at the youth’s pluck.

 

“We’ve had this discussion, Damian. Your father would not see you harmed before your coming of age,” he gently admonished. “And our siblings are all wards of Lord Wayne, equal in his eyes.”

 

They exited the luxurious tent colored in House Wayne’s sable and yellow. Last night’s drizzle and the more recent churning of feet and hooves had turned the ground into a black swamp.

 

 _‘Lancing will be risky with such footing_ , thought Dick, grimly, _‘Hopefully the mud will trip the West-Allen force as well_.’ But images of scarlet, ermine, and gold descending from the high ground to sink the Waynemen into mud at the bottom of the hill plagued his mind as he mounted his midnight courser. Damian, however, was mired in their earlier argument.

 

“We are  _not_  all equal, Grayson. You have been by my father’s side as his longtime ward, yes, but the others are far from similar standing. Todd is a cutpurse charity case, and that fool Drake is as much a power-hungry, climbing vine as any sprouted from the Reach-” Dick cut him off.

 

“It does not do well to speak ill of your brothers, Damian, especially in front of the men. We are fractured enough as it is after repeated run-ins with Atlantean raiders from the Iron Islands. You know this.” Dick brought his courser to a slow trot to the waiting troops. Damian huffed and walked faster to keep beside them.

 

They passed weary knights and frazzled quires completing final preparations. As was not unusual, second glances and whispers followed the pair despite their unique positions as commander of the Wayne forces and the Wayne heir, respectively. ‘Bastard,’ and ‘Sand son’ slipped through the air and tangled around Damian’s ears. He gripped Dick’s helmet tighter, and said nothing. The knight pretended not to notice.

 

Swords and shields and men and horses stretched before them. Beyond, streaks of crimson and yellow seemed to advance in zips and spurts. Dick turned in his saddle to face his squire.

 

“You belong to the house of Wayne. Even had he not officially recognized you as his son and heir, there would be a place for you in the seat of the North. Our father and your lady mother being….unwed, is irrelevant.” Damian scowled.

 

“Consider telling that to Drake, Richard.” Dick laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair.

 

“Timothy only antagonizes you when provoked. He, Jason, and our sisters are not nearly as dreadful as you like to believe.”

 

Damian sighed and made to hand Dick his helmet. But the knight met resistance when pulling it out of his squire’s hands. Damian would not meet his eyes.

 

“Is it true, what they say?” he whispered. “Does father truly intend to take the black after defeating the lord of the westerlands and his defense of the abominable relations between his daughter and his ward? He would leave m-, he would us, for the Wall?”

 

Dick gently pulled the helmet away from Damian and tucked it under his arm. This conversation deserved more time than available in the final minutes before battle. Nevertheless…

 

“Lord Bruce keeps his own counsel. I cannot dismiss or give credence to rumors about his joining the night’s watch. But rest assured, he will not leave _any_ of his children without ensuring we are provided for,” he spoke earnestly. His horse fidgeted underneath him, sensing the rising tension in the camp. Damian’s eyes remained downcast. “We will speak more of this upon my return,” said Dick with more authority than he felt. And, attempting his usual jollity as he rode to the head of the columns: “Have as much spiced wine as your arms can carry ready for our victory, my lad!”

 

Damian Wayne, sometimes known as Damian Sand, looked over raised standards of the yellow bat on sable field. As the gears of war turned faster, propelling the armies into each other from across the field, the distance between the heir apparent and his father’s heraldry grew. Soon, all he could see of the Wayne bats were flashes of black and yellow in a sea of red.


End file.
